


The Dust Settles

by newest_fanfic_writer



Series: A Time for Everything [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, John moving on, Moving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 21:51:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7548499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newest_fanfic_writer/pseuds/newest_fanfic_writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a time to plant and a time to uproot,</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dust Settles

**Author's Note:**

> Set between Season 2 and 3.

John sat in his chair one last time, looking around at what had been his life. He saw fine particles of dust falling through the air, highlighted by the weak sunlight coming in through the window. He could practically still hear violin music, or the sound of glasses clinking as some experiment was being adjusted. He could imagine Sherlock, in his room, about to burst out and exclaim that "The game is on!" He stood up, heavy on his feet, but still refusing to use his cane, and walked over to the kitchen, limping (barely!).He knew he had already done this, but he looked through everything, wondering if there was anything else that he should take with him.

His hand ghosted over science equipment, gently caressing the well-used but still clean beakers and test tubes and microscope. He put his eye to the microscope, pretending that he could feel the phantom shadow of Sherlock trying to show him something that his own magnificent brain had just figured out. He could imagine Sherlock's hands gesturing madly as his words tumbled out, trying to explain as quickly as possible the significance of whatever mold or compound he had just identified. It was so real that John was a little disappointed when he looked up and no one was there. 

John sat heavily in the kitchen chair, his head tilted back, looking at the ceiling. Their ceiling was a slight beige, with that weird rough look to it that some walls had that he could never remember the name of. He had never noticed their ceiling before, he had been too busy noticing the man beneath it. 

With an exasperated little snort, John pushed himself up, refusing to sink into more sentimental rambling. He determinedly went through each drawer, making sure there was no food and went through the fridge, making sure it was empty. He stomped up to his bedroom, saw that it was completely, depressingly empty, the window only letting in the weak light that came through the clouds. He walked back to the sitting room. 

He looked down the hall to where Sherlock's bedroom door was still tightly shut. He walked over to it, rested his hand against the door and then turned away. _If Mycroft wants to go through it, he's more than welcome._

John walked to their front door, and then turned back. Already the dust was settling. It was starting to cover everything, the coffee table, the violin case, even their chairs. Soon it would settle over everything, giving what had once been vibrant and bright and almost glowing with brilliance a softer, subdued look, one that wouldn't hurt the eyes with its chaos, but also wouldn't give the mind the joy of its startling beauty. John gave the doorframe a friendly little tap, and then walked out.

He handed Mrs. Hudson his key, and she simply pulled him into a hug. He had half -expected her to say something, but she seemed too choked up. He was grateful, everything that needed to be said between them had been said and any more would have just been too painful. 

He gave her a slight smile, and then walked out the door. 

Mary was waiting outside, leaning against the door of the car. She walked up to him and put a hand on his cheek, and then leaned forward and put her forehead against his. For a while, they simply stood there, breathing each other's air. 

"Are you ready?" He gave her a weak smile that he hoped she took for a yes and then pulled away and got in the car. 

They drove to their new home in the outside of the city, and John forced himself to smile at Mary's attempts to cheer him up. The house here was brilliantly white, no dust, no dirt, clean, pure, new. He looked at the nice house, in the nice neighborhood, with the nice neighbors, and tried to imagine himself happy here. He looked at Mary, and he saw how happy she was here and he thought to himself that maybe it was possible.


End file.
